


The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn

by coffeeandcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean in Denial, First Kiss, Heavy Angst, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Nice Crowley, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: Takes place after the events of 12x12 "Stuck in the Middle With You".Castiel has been in love with Dean ever since he first laid a hand on him in Hell all those years ago. But finally, painfully, he realises Dean will never return his feelings and forces himself to move on. Dean misses the presence and attention of his angel, and comes to some realisations of his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More tags/characters to be added as this develops.

Castiel has known it all along, if he’s honest and admits it to himself. That Dean doesn't harbour the same feelings for him that he does for the hunter. He still isn't exactly proficient in the complexities of human communication, but this time he had been as plain as he was able to be, and still Dean had failed to respond to him. If telling his friend that he loved him in what they all thought were his last moments didn't make Dean confess it back, then nothing ever would. For a fleeting moment, Castiel had tried to convince himself that it was because Sam and Mary were there, but that line of thought trailed off as he realised that if Dean was unable to admit his feelings in front of his family then it was unlikely they were particularly strong anyway.

Dean’s love for him is a platonic one, the kind you have for your brother or a parent. It isn't the romantic, all-consuming love that Castiel suffered from and now the angel has his proof. He has spent years hoping, wondering, even sometimes convincing himself that he saw something reflected in Dean’s glittering green eyes, but now he has his answer - and as painful as it is, at least it’s something tangible. Something final that he can cling onto, suffer through, and move past. But god, the suffering Cas is feeling now is staggering, incomparable; he feels like his heart is being torn from his chest, like his soul - if he had one - is shattering one piece at a time. He loves Dean more than he can admit, even to himself, and how he's going to be able to be around him after that rejected confession is something Cas hasn't got an answer for just yet.

And why the hell would Dean love the fallen angel? What is there to love about Castiel? He has lied to Dean, betrayed him, done unspeakable things in the name of God and heaven…Dean probably sees him now as damaged, jaded, something to take pity on. Wait…Is that why Dean keeps him around? He pities him?

That thought brings a fresh wave of agony, and Castiel leans forward to vomit again into the toilet bowl, collapsing back against the cool tiles when his stomach just can't expel any more. He's still coughing up black slime, his skin is still raw and burning, and his insides feel like someone is going at them with sandpaper. He had been OK for a while, on the journey home. Had felt almost normal. He had excused himself the moment they had got back to the bunker, first to his own bedroom then the bathroom when he realised how ill he truly felt, and has now been locked in solitude, alternating between vomiting and trying not to hyperventilate, for over an hour. His skin is wet with sweat, his clothing soaked, and he can't stop shaking. He remembers when he last felt remotely ill, when his stolen grace was fading inside him, but this is another level entirely. He's violently sick again, and trades sitting back against the wall for lying down on the bathroom floor, his overheated cheek against the cool tiles, and tries to hold in a fresh wave of tears. If Dean saw him now…

He hears a door slam from deep in the bunker, raised voices, but can't find the energy to even sit up let alone go and see what's happening. Sam and Dean are probably arguing, and Mary is probably trying to placate them. Castiel is more than familiar with their family dynamics now; his family dynamics he supposes, after the events of today. He truly does see himself as a part of their family - the words ‘Castiel Winchester’ run through his mind and he huffs out an almost delirious giggle at the thought - but the worry dragging gently at him is that Dean only said what he did because Castiel was dying. He tries to reason with himself, pain, discomfort and distress clouding his logic, and only comes to conclusions that cause him further pain and upset. He should really think about this stuff later, when he's feeling better, when he's had a chance to talk to Dean…

Fuck. He has to talk to Dean. He doesn't have to mention what he said, when he feverishly confessed his love, but he'll have to talk to the hunter at some point, he can't just ignore him for the rest of his life. He could leave, he supposes, sitting up suddenly to spit more black bile out into the toilet and collapsing again with his head spinning - but isn't that a cowardly thing to do? To leave, to run away? He doesn't fucking know, all he knows is that he's hurting, in every way possible, and he want it to just stop. A knock at the door draws him back to reality just enough for him to turn his head and focus as the bathroom door swings open.

“Cas? You OK? Oh God, Cas!”

Sam’s expression immediately drops to one of intense concern, and he kneels down beside the fallen angel, sliding his hands under Castiel’s shoulders and helping him to sit up. Cas slumps back against Sam, the back of his head hitting the bone of Sam’s shoulder with an unpleasant crack, and he tries to catch his breath.

“‘M fine, Sam. Just…taking longer than I thought…to get back to normal…”

“Cas, are you sure?” Sam’s voice is laced with worry. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No…” Cas knew he should feel embarrassed, lying collapsed in Sam’s arms the way he currently is, but he can't find it in him to care. “Just need to wait it out…”

“Let me get you some water,” Sam manoeuvres Cas until he's leaning against the wall; the angel lets his eyes fall shut and listens to the sound of a tap running, then Sam is pressing a perspiring glass of water into his feverish hands. “Try and drink it slowly.”

Castiel complies, feeling a little better with each sip. He supposes he’s dehydrated from all the vomiting - another pesky human affliction he will never be able to get used to. He wants to ask Sam how Dean is, but at the same time doesn't want to open the door to any potentially awkward discussions, not in his current state. However, in true Castiel style, his brain doesn't always have control over his mouth.

“How's Dean?”

“Dean?” Sam seems surprised, but then the narrowing of his eyes makes Cas think he knows exactly what the angel means. “Dean’s fine. He was really worried about you; we all were. Are. You look dreadful, man.”

“You try getting stabbed with the Lance of Michael and see how you feel,” Cas gripes, dragging himself into a better sitting position and trying to wipe sweat from his brow with his even sweatier palm. “In fact no, don't. I wouldn't wish this affliction on any of you.”

“Not even Dean?” Sam teases lightly, sitting down against the opposite wall to keep Cas company for a while. “I'm sure he's deserves it once or twice.”

“No…” Cas’ voice grows soft with contemplation. He isn't in any mood to joke. “Especially not Dean.”

To his horror, his eyes fill with tears and he can't react fast enough to wipe them away, and they spill unchecked down his cheeks. He scrubs at them savagely, eyes burning with embarrassment now as well as pain, and hopes Sam won't say anything. That, of course, doesn't go his way either.

Sam is silent for a while, alternating between watching the angel and playing with nonexistent fluff on his jeans. His next words cement the truth that Castiel already knew; any tiny glimmer of hope he still held onto is completely and irrevocably destroyed.

“I'm so sorry, Cas. We all thought he felt the same, we really did. I've thought for years that the two of you…you know, would end up together. I thought-”

“Don't, Sam.” Cas’ voice breaks and another flood of tears stream down his cheeks. He drops his head, chin almost on his chest, and gives in to the grief. “Please. Don't. I can't…I just can't.”

He doesn't care any more if Sam is watching him, if he's in the room, or what he thinks of him. He doesn't have the energy to fight any more, and the sobs that have been threatening him since they returned to the bunker now burst out of him and he's powerless to control them. The glass of water splinters on the ground beside him and he drops his head into his hands; the tears start and they won't stop. The angel cries for what feels like forever, barely feeling Sam’s arm come around his shoulders, barely hearing the empty words of comfort whispered into his ear; everything he thought his future would eventually be had been smashed to pieces in front of him, and Sam has confirmed it all. Dean doesn't love him; he never has.

Minutes tick towards hours, and Castiel just can't stop crying.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel wakes up in his own bed some time later, disorientated and still feeling the effects of his injuries. His mouth is dry and he still feels nauseous, but he manages to get himself out of bed to use the bathroom with minimal discomfort before collapsing back into bed and burrowing under the covers, dejected. He's raw and wrung-out from crying and every muscle aches horribly. He's been low before, many times, but he always bounced back. Or pretended to anyway, which is almost the same. His bed is cool and comforting against his overheated skin and he wants nothing more than to snuggle down and stay there all day; to avoid Dean and the rest of the world. He probably could, nobody would really question him, nor after the events of yesterday, but he knew it wasn't productive. He needed to sort his head out, and stewing in bed all day wasn't going to accomplish that. A dragging feeling of sadness overwhelms him as he thinks about Dean for the first time since waking. Normally the hunter’s face, all soft smiles and shining eyes, is the first thing to flash into his mind when he opens his eyes, but today he feels so rotten that it's taken a while.

All the years, all the affectionate touches, lingering looks, gentle smiles and misinterpreted ‘I need you’s: Castiel has never felt so foolish, so humiliated, or so _old_. He's been around the world a thousand times or more and he should know better, but he allowed himself to be drawn under the spell of the enigmatic and undeniably handsome hunter and now no wonder he’s hurting. He had been warned countless times to stay away from the Winchester brothers and he had always, always ignored that advice. Now he wonders whether he should have listened the first time Uriel berated him and called him their toy.

He lets a bit more time pass, idly staring at the ceiling and keeping his mind carefully blank to avoid tumbling into misery, then with some difficulty drags himself out of bed and dresses in the first clothes he finds - faded jeans and an old t-shirt that maybe belonged to Dean - and ventures from his room in trepidation.

The bunker is dark, quiet and still - it's early morning, and Dean, Sam and Mary must still be asleep. Castiel couldn't be any more relieved: after spending what felt like forever in tears in Sam’s arms, the younger Winchester had eventually helped him to his own room and undressed him to put him to bed. By that stage, Cas had been so out of it that he just let Sam twist and turn him in various directions to get his clothes off, and was blissfully passed out the second his head hit the pillow. He isn't ready to see anyone yet. He wonders if Sam had told Dean what a bad state he had been in, and if Dean had even cared.

He wanders through to the kitchen, aching, and trying to ignore the tumultuous voices in his head telling him a myriad of different things.

_‘You should leave, now, before they wake up and try to stop you.’_

_‘Dean pities you, he thinks you're broken; he feels guilty for kicking you out last time so he won't do it again, that's the only reason you're still here.’_

_‘You're not really family, they only said that to ease your pain. They didn't think you'd live.’_

_‘Dean doesn't love you. Dean doesn't love you. Dean doesn't love you.’_

Agonised, Castiel drops his head into his hands and leans heavily on the counter near the coffee machine. He can't reign his thoughts in; perhaps its an after-effect of being stabbed with the lance, but he feels like he might go insane from all the words and images swirling in his mind. And the one shouting the loudest? Is telling him to leave, to run, to go once and for all and not look back. But that would be cowardice, he just _can't_ , they're his _family_ …

‘ _No, Castiel_ ,’ an inner voice sneered at him, reminding him sickeningly of Naomi. ‘ _They aren't. They'll never see you as more than their awkward friend who outstays his welcome. You know this, deep in your heart.’_

“Shut _up_!” Castiel loses it a little, lashing out with one arm and feeling it connect with something. An object crashes to the floor but he doesn't bother to look; tears are pricking behind his eyes again and he feels so damn weak, like he could collapse again at any given moment. He needs to get a grip on himself, stop the voices going round in his mind and feeding him venom. The Winchesters love him - maybe not in the way he aches for Dean to love him, but it's enough. They're a family. They love Cas. It has to be enough.

“Cas?” He hears Sam’s concerned voice close by, and wonders how long he's been calling him for. With a great effort, Cas wipes his eyes and stands upright, greeting the younger Winchester with a tight smile.

“Good morning, Sam. I'm just going to make some coffee - would you like some?” His voice sounds flat and hollow to his own ears, but he hopes Sam won't pick up on it. Sam is focused on picking up the cookbook of Dean’s that Cas had knocked to the floor and rearranging it where it belongs. Cas turns away and fumbles with mugs and coffee and milk, and tries to get a handle on himself. Maybe when he sees Dean and gets the initial awkwardness out of the way, he’ll feel better; less skittish. Sam smiles at him and lends a hand, and the warm gaze of the man Cas considers a brother grounds him a little. Then he hears footsteps behind him, the sound of Dean crossing the expanse of room and the soft, familiar sound he makes when he's stretching his arms above his head and yawning. Cas’ heart aches again and he swallows. Shit. He isn't ready for this.

He turns, preempting Dean, with a fixed, brittle smile and an outstretched cup of steaming coffee. The older Winchester takes it awkwardly but doesn't meet his eyes for a moment.

“Morning, Sammy. Sleep OK?” Then, slowly, Dean’s green gaze lands on the angel and Cas’ heart hammers so hard he swears everyone can hear it. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Silence stretches between the three of them, growing in intensity and awkwardness as the seconds tick by, Cas and Dean doing their best to avoid eye contact, until Sam clears his throat and scoops his own cup up off the counter.

“I guess I'll…just give you two a minute.” And he sidles away, leaving Dean and his angel to shift awkwardly and avert their gazes every time their eyes met.

“Cas-”

“Dean-”

They speak at the same time and both flush. Cas sips his coffee to hide his embarrassment and Dean rubs the back of his neck in the self-conscious way Castiel is so familiar with.

“You go first. Please, Dean. I insist.”

“OK.” The hunter levels a look at the angel, and Castiel can see relief, concern, wariness, and other swirling emotions in Dean’s deep green eyes. Cas swallows, apprehensive. “I'm just…I'm so glad you're OK, Cas. Watching you almost die like that, and Crowley telling us there was nothing we could do…it was awful, man. Really. Are,” Dean shifts, his hand coming out as if to reach for Cas’ shoulder then thinking better of it. “Are you feeling better now? Sammy said you were still kind of out of it last night.”

“Much better, Dean. Thank you.” Castiel swallows, his response stiff and jilted but unable to manage anything more convincing. The air between them is rigid and hollow and gaining in discomfiture. Somewhere in the bunker, he can hear Mary talking to Sam. “Are you all right? You weren't hurt?”

“No Cas, I wasn't. I'm fine. Just so long as you are.”

“Yes. I am, I'm back to normal. I'm fine. Almost.”

As long as they stood telling each other how fine they were, it meant that the topic of Cas’ feverish confession was unlikely to come up. But they couldn't stand there all day, as much as Cas would love to skirt round the issue and just disappear, and ignoring the mounting fear in every nerve ending, he decides to take the bull by the proverbial horns.

“Dean…about what I said-”

“I know, Cas.” Dean does clap a hand on Cas’ arm at this; some of his coffee slops over the side and onto the floor. They both ignore it in favour of staring each other. “I get it. I really do.” And suddenly Dean’s eyes are darker, more intense and intimate, and Cas wonders if he's imagining the step forward Dean has taken. He's pinned in place by Dean’s eyes, and a warm feeling starts to uncool from deep in his stomach, soothing his burning heart and aching spirit.

“You do? Dean, I thought-”

“Yeah, Cas, of course.” Dean smiles, and it's all soft and warm and glowing and _exactly_ the smile that Castiel fell in love with. His throat tightens as he waits for Dean to continue. “You're family, and we love you too. You're one of us now!” And Dean’s smile widens to a grin; he claps Cas on the arm again then reaches behind the angel for some sugar for his coffee. Castiel is frozen in place, unable to move, Dean so close that he would barely have to move for their faces to be touching. ‘We love you too’…

“Dean,” Cas grips the hunter’s arm with a sudden desperation, pinning the taller man in place and when Dean looks up at him in surprise there's barely three inches between their faces. “I meant…Sam and Mary, they mean the world to me. And truly, they are my family. But you…Dean, I meant…I mean…” Cas’ words fail him and he tries with all his might to convey his meaning with his eyes, every atom within him pleading with Dean to understand. To look at him the way he reveres his hunter. To feel how he feels. To just love him.

“Cas,” Dean’s hand comes to rest on the arm Castiel is holding him with, his eyes soft again, and he's watching his angel carefully, expression unreadable. “You're family. I get it; you believe me, right? I love you too, Cas.” And Castiel’s emotion soars, suspended in hope for a fleeting second - until the next words out of Dean’s mouth decimate the angel's heart. “As a brother.”

Silence worms it's way between them as Castiel takes a horrified, reactive step back. That's it then. That's how Dean sees him, confirmed from his own mouth. Castiel feels as though he's been punched through a brick wall; his head spins and for one terrifying second he thinks he might throw up on Dean. He can see Dean’s lips moving but can't hear a word over the rushing of blood in his ears. His cup crashes to the floor between them and Dean jumps back with a yelp, staring at Cas with growing concern. The overwhelming need to get away from Dean, to be alone to process all this, shoves Cas backwards another few steps and Dean finally seems to understand. He watches as a slow comprehension dawns on the hunter’s face and his mouth opens in slack-jawed shock.

“What the hell-”

“Dean,” Cas’ eyes are brimming with tears and he knows they're about to fall. He meets the stunned eyes of his hunter, the man who held his heart for so long and has just crushed it between his palms, and backs away, choking on his own words. “I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so damn sorry.”

“Cas, wait-”

But Castiel has already turned and high-tailed down the corridor to his bedroom; the door slams behind him and he slides down it until he's collapsed on the floor with his back to it, and yet again the tears just won't stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Customary tumblr plug: <http://coffeeandcas.tumblr.com>. Got a fluffy/angsty Destiel prompt? Send it to me and I'll do my best to fill it!


	3. Chapter 3

“Have you seen Cas?”

 

Sam wanders into the library some time later to find Dean apparently so immersed in a book that he doesn't hear his brother’s footsteps or his question. It doesn't escape Sam's notice that hiding behind the hide edition of 'Demonic Posession Vol II' is a copy of Busty Asian Beauties, or that Dean seems a little drunk - if his red-rimmed eyes and the half-empty bottle of Jack are anything to go by. Sam sits down opposite Dean and fixes his brother with a stare, one which Dean stubbornly ignores in favour of turning a page.

 

"He's in his room. He still feels like crap - I told him to go lie down." 

 

It's a blatant lie, and Sam knows it. He had seen Cas disappear down the corridor with tears in his eyes and had heard his bedroom door slam. He had debated going to speak to the angel, try and console him again, but he knew nothing he had to say would do any good. The only person who can fix the situation is Dean - if he's even able to. 

 

"You really didn't know?" Sam asks quietly, testing the waters with no idea how Dean will respond. Dean heaves out a sigh and takes another sip from his beer, stalling. Then he shakes his head, avoiding his brother's gaze.

 

"No, Sam. I didn't. I had no idea."

 

"But...how? How is that even possible? I know you're emotionally dense half the time, Dean - don't look at me like that - but it's so blindingly obvious. The way he looks at you...it's like you're his whole world. How did you not see that?"

 

"I don't know, Sam, I mean it's Cas. He's...he's Cas, you know? He's weird, he's clingy, he has no concept of personal space or communication or...anything, man. I just thought it was normal for him."

 

" _Normal_?" Sam scoffs, incredulous. "Come on, Dean. He may have been all those things but that was a long time ago. You can't honestly tell me that he acts the same way towards me as he does you? I know observation isn't always one of your strong points, but-"

 

"Sam, where is this going?" Dean cuts his brother off mid-sentence with a glower. This isn't a conversation he wants to have.

 

He's spent the entire morning going over and over what Cas had said, both earlier in the day and the evening before, and trying to push down the creeping feelings of guilt. He had lied to Sam immediately  as soon as the conversation was struck: he knows exactly how Cas feels, of course he does. He's known for years. But acknowledging Castiel's feelings for him? Now that in itself was complex: it meant delving into his own feelings for the angel, something he really couldn't face doing. Dean didn't do serious relationships, he didn't do commitment, and he certainly didn't do...well, Cas is just off-limits and that's all there is to it. He shies away from tugging at that thread, because he knows he's being irrational but he just can't help it. Dean likes women. He dates women, he sleeps with women, he _prefers_ women. He's never so much as looked at another guy before, or played tonsil tennis in a game of spin the bottle. OK, the whole 'looking' thing might be a lie, but the rest is true. Sam had done it, back when they were teenagers drunk on too much cheap cider and the bottle had landed on him and another skinny, floppy haired dude and they had gone through with it. But never Dean. He had taken his masculinity far too seriously for that, and Sam had laughed when Dean ribbed him about it, calling him repressed and old-fashioned. 

 

Castiel may have no preference when it comes to gender or sexuality, but that doesn't mean Dean finds it that easy to shed his inhibitions. It's all irrelevant anyway, because Dean does not have feelings for the angel. But just say he did, it would never work or be possible to have anything beyond friendship. Castiel may have been in a female vessel at some point but he is very definitely a man - and a handsome one at that - and any feelings Dean has for his angelic best friend are overshadowed by his own internal battles focusing on that one particular fact. Castiel is a man, and Dean isn't gay. Cas might be attractive, kind, sweet, attentive; all the things Dean would look for in a partner, but he just can't let himself go there no matter how much he might want to. Cas is his best friend, and Cas is a _man_. Cas is off-limits. 

 

"I just can't understand you, not that it's any surprise!" Anguished, Sam runs his hands through his hair again, making Dean jolt with shock at the intensity in his voice. Sam is clearly upset by all this, and Dean is struggling to pinpoint why. Its his and Cas' trouble to sort through, surely nothing for Sam to worry about? "Cas is devoted to you, and it must have taken everything he had to tell you he loved you, and you've just...brushed it off! How can you do that?"

 

"Fuck off, Sammy, that isn't what I'm doing." Dean finally throws the book down in exasperation, and it falls open to an explicit page that Sam cringes at. Dean shuts it with a derisive snort. "And for fuck's sake: 'devoted'. He is not. I can't help it if I don't share his feelings, what am I meant to do? Lie?"

 

"Well, Dean, we all know how good you are at that because where Cas is concerned you've been lying to yourself for years, but no, lying isn't what you should do right now. Perhaps the truth would be a good place to start this time. Perhaps taking a look at yourself and realising what we all know to be true is-"

 

"And what's that, since you're such a fucking expert?" Dean's tone is low now, dangerous, and he's downed another shot of whiskey, but Sam ignores it all. He's dealt with many a Dean-style temper tantrum over the years and this is no different. Except that this time, everything is different because his brother is so far entrenched in his denial that it's hurting the one close friend they've ever had. And Sam just can't let that stand. They've all been there, they've all lied to each other and hurt each other, but this is on a much more intimate level and without a good hard shove Dean is unlikely to deal with the situation well at all. But hell, Sam has dealt with worse: he and Cas broke Dean down when he was a demon because they both knew what was best for him, no matter how much agony it caused at the time. Sam did it then, he could do it again. So what if Dean has to hurt a little before this is all resolved? If Dean can just let go of his own pig-headed, frankly bigoted nonsense then he could end up getting everything he ever wanted. 

 

Sam thinks he knows what's going through his brother's mind: Castiel isn't a woman, and therefore in Dean's warped brain he's probably not even on the radar for a romantic relationship. But if Dean could just get over that and realise how idiotic his own hang-ups are, realise that Castiel could make him happier than he ever imagined...

 

"We both know how expert you are in sabotaging your own happiness," Sam is starting to lose his temper now, infuriated by his brother's own stubbornness and blatant denial. "But this time it isn't just yourself you're hurting. You're hurting Cas, our best friend, and I can't believe you'd let that happen after everything you've been through together." 

 

"Cas will be fine. He's been through worse than this and bounced right back. It's probably just a crush, anyway," Dean shrugs, trying to diffuse the mounting tension. He's so done with all this. "I'm devilishly handsome, after all."

 

His joke falls flat into the silence between them. Sam appraises his brother for a long time, taking in the dishevelled hair, the eyes red from alcohol and shoulders tight with tension, the firm line to his mouth: every signal that Dean has shut down and won't discuss this further. Sam knows when he's beaten: at least for now.

 

"Whatever, man. I'm going to go and talk to him. He's been through hell the last couple of days, and he could use a friend." Sam waits a beat, to see if Dean is going to volunteer to go and find Cas himself, but when that offer doesn't come the younger Winchester rolls his eyes, scoots his chair back with an audible screech, and vanishes down the corridor. Dean listens to him clatter through the bunker, deliberately making as much noise as possible, and slides further down in his chair. He does feel like crap; Cas doesn't deserve this. But equally he can't bring himself to go and talk to the pained angel. It's too risky. The words and feelings the angel might draw out of him...he can't do it. He isn't ready to tackle those feelings and as far as he's concerned he never will be. Castiel will...Castiel will just have to deal with it. Dean's been dealing with it for a while now, he's sure his angel can do the same.

 

  
_The_ angel. Not _his_ angel, Dean admonishes himself. God, no wonder he's verging on confusion. Thoughts like that just don't help matters at all. It will all be fine; Cas probably just feels worse because of the whole Lance of Michael ordeal. When he's back to his usual stoic self, the awkward conversation between them will be nothing more than an awkward memory, one they will work around and carry on from. Because that's what they do: they carry on.

 

"Dean?"

 

" _What_ , Sam?" Dean throws his magazine on the table in irritation, glowering menacingly at his brother as he approaches, looking hassled. He just wants to be left alone.

 

"Cas...all his things..." Sam runs his hands through his hair, the distraught expression on his face causing Dean to sit up and really pay attention. "Dean, Cas is gone."


	4. Chapter 4

"Go back to whatever damn hell hole you crawled out of, and just leave me alone. All right?”

Castiel is in no mood, no mood at all, for this bullshit. He takes a deep swallow from his drink and rubs a hand over his tired face. The bar is too warm, too loud, and too crowded even without the sudden unwanted company. He's fine on his own, moping.

“Oh come now, Feathers, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Crowley sighs, flicks his finger and a chair slides out from under the table in the bar Castiel has been lurking in, and he takes a seat opposite the morose angel.

“Who says we're friends?” Cas gripes at him, glaring darkly. He doesn't have the energy for wittier comebacks: his head is pounding, overrun with a thousand thoughts, and he hasn't got room to sift through them all to find the perfect way to drag the King of Hell. That and he just can't be bothered.

“Oh, the old ‘saving your life’ thing, perhaps I thought that would be enough. Although you've never been particularly appreciative of that in the past, so I don't know why I assumed this time would be any different.” Crowley eyes the fallen angel with curiosity, then frowns. “What exactly are you doing out here on your lonesome, anyway?”

“Meditating. What does it look like? Just go away, Crowley. I'm not in the mood.”

“Meditating, hmm? And how is that particular brand of meditation working out for you?” Crowley gestures at the neat Jack in Castiel’s grip, then signals the waitress over. “I'll have whatever he's having. And he’ll have another.”

Crowley studies the angel carefully for a while. He looks a wreck. His hair is messed up as though he's run his hands through it a hundred times, he hasn't shaved in more than a day or two, and his trench coat looks more dishevelled than normal. He's sitting with his shoulders hunched, both hands clasping his glass of amber liquid and is staring down into it as though it holds the key to the meaning of life. Crowley almost rolls his eyes at how pitiful Castiel looks. Almost.

“So what exactly are you doing out here in - where the hell are we? Because if it's R&R you're after, I can recommend some much more salubrious places.”

“I needed some space,” Cas grouches. “Which is exactly what I was getting before you turned up.”

“Three days worth of space?” The demon arches an eyebrow. “My my, those boys and their mother must be hard to live with.” Castiel doesn't respond, and Crowley huffs out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Don't be sad about squirrel, wings. He’ll come around.”

Crowley, if he were human or anyone but Crowley, would have reached across the table at this point to rub Cas’ arm supportively. The demon just sips his drink with calculating eyes and watches Cas react.

“That's just it!” Cas runs an anxious hand through his hair, meeting Crowley’s eyes for the first time as the demon is surprised to find them red-rimmed. “I don't want him to ‘come around’. I want - wanted - him to…wait a second, how did you know…”

“Details, details.” Crowley waves a hand dismissively, it at Castiel’s hardened glare he rolls his eyes instead. “All right, fine. I was eavesdropping while trying to decide whether or not to save your life. And I thought I'd let you get your little speech out of the way before making an entrance. You get me?”

“Perfect.”

Castiel drops his forehead to the table and huffs out a dejected sigh. Add Crowley to the list of people who know he's just Dean’s rejected, pitiful best friend and nothing more. That was exactly what he wanted. He sits up, downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, and signals for another. Nothing at all is going his way, so why not imbibe copious amounts of alcohol to numb the pain? It always worked for Dean…

He curtails that train of thought immediately. Thoughts of Dean ultimately seem to lead to wallowing in self-pity and sadness, which in turn lead to helpless tears, and one thing he would not do in front of the King of Hell was cry. It was unbecoming a Seraph, for starters. Plus, Crowley would never let him forget it.

“Why are you here, Crowley?” Cas gripes, shoving his empty glass away from him and sending the demon a sidelong glance. "If it's just to gloat, then I really don't want to hear it."

"You wound me," Crowley places a palm over his chest in mock-horror, then rolls his eyes at Castiel's glare. "OK fine, I have an errand to run and thought that instead of moping around here and depressing everyone who comes across you, you could come along for the ride. We make a good team."

"No." Cas' answer is immediate and firm. "I'm fine here, Crowley, leave me be." A beat of silence, then, "What kind of errand?"

"Oh, just a few rogue demons running amok who need...a gentle talking to." Crowley waves his hand, and both their glasses refill with cheap whiskey. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Feathers. I'm doing you a favour. Taking your mind off all the heartache. Squirrel...Dean...will come to his senses sooner or later, so until then you need to keep occupied. Understand?"

"Hmph," Cas can't manage anything more coherant. He's feeling buzzed from the amount of whiskey he's drunk, and going on a little mission with Crowley is slowly growing in appeal - it beats sitting in this nameless bar and drinking himself into oblivion, anyway. Plus as irritating as the demon is, he does amuse Castiel from time to time, and Heaven knows he requires some cheering up. Perhaps running around after demons with the King of Hell is just the type of catharsis he needs.

"So it's settled then. Drink up!" Crowley instantly looks more animated as he sees the acquiescence in Castiel's minute nod. "Oh Feathers, buck up. You and Dean are, how do the humans say it, 'meant to be'." He makes air quotes with his fingers, and Castiel rolls his eyes. This turn of conversation isn't serving to make him any less gloomy.

"I don't think we are. I think I've read it all wrong." Cas doesn't feel like baring his soul to the demon, or getting into some heart-to-heart about his unrequited feelings for Dean, but it does feel therapeutic in a way to talk a little. "He just sees me as his friend. His brother. Which is...more than I could ever possibly have hoped for, and I probably need to be content with that and count myself lucky. And I will, I will do that. I do. But..." Cas finishes his drink and blinks a couple of times in quick succession. "It just...hurts." It's a weak summary, but Crowley nods in understanding. The angel sighs, shoves his chair away from the table and raises his eyebrows questioningly. "So, where are we heading?"

"Nebraska." The exit the bar together, both lost in silent thought, until Crowley says, "It will all work out in the end, Feathers. Dean is..." The demon rolls his eyes effusively, as though embarrassed by what he's about to say. "He's your lobster." At Castiel's blank expression, Crowley exhales in irritation. "Oh, come on! I thought Metatron fixed your pop culture deficiencies? No?"

"If you're trying to come up with another nickname for us..."

"I'm not. It's a reference to...oh, never mind, not enough hours in the day. I despair with you, Feathers, I really do. Let's go."

And a second later, the spot where the angel and demon had been standing side-by-side was nothing but empty air and disturbed earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments help me write faster ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Dean wanders aimlessly through the corridors, the same thing he's been doing for days now, feeling lonelier than he ever imagined possible. He should be just grand: his brother is here, his mother is back with them, they have a safe and comfortable home…but without their angelic best friend, nothing is as it should be. The bunker is quiet and empty, and Dean hates every second that goes by. Castiel never made much noise or took up a lot of room - most of the time there was no evidence he even really lived there, but they were all aware of his calm, serene presence and it comforted them all without them even realising. Without him, they're all tense and morose, sniping at each other and feeling weary mere hours after getting up. It's been almost three weeks now since the angel left - Dean is counting the hours, never mind days - and they can't carry on this way. Dean knows Sam and Mary blame him for Cas leaving; they haven't said as much but it's there in the sideline glances and heavy sighs.

Cas’ absence is the only thing Dean can think about. It keeps him up at night, wakes him up in the morning, and is the reason his appetite is so noticeably diminished that Mary can't help but comment. He goes over and over the conversations they had, tries to think of how he could have responded better and comes up with one simple answer: anything at all would have been better than the way he handled it. He should have followed Cas, run after him and demanded that they get to the bottom of everything. But, out of cowardice, he had hit the drink instead and buried his head so deep in the sand that he's still shaking grains from his ears. Cas had looked shattered and Dean had just…let him go. Dean shakes his head at his own idiocy - what the fuck had he been thinking? He paces the halls now, stumbling about like a ghost haunting every room, and sends silent calls out to his angel to come home, that he wants to make everything right again.

Every single unspoken, whispered, or downright shouted prayer goes completely unanswered.

They had tried calling Cas right away. Dean had shoved his chair away from the table so hard that it spilled over backwards and run to Castiel’s room before Sam had even finished speaking, to confirm what his brother had told him, hoping it was a misunderstanding or that Sam had walked into the wrong bedroom by mistake. But the sight of the bare room, the covers pulled up so neatly and every surface clear of books and the rest of Castiel’s meagre possessions, confirmed Dean’s worst fear: the angel had left him. Left _them_ , he corrected himself distractedly. He had left them, their family, not just Dean. He had called Cas’ cell phone straight away, ready to chew him out down the line for scaring them this way and demand that he come home right away. But as the call connected, the shrill ringtone of Cas’ phone sounded from somewhere in the room , dull and muffled…and seconds later Sam fished it from a door with a look of utter despair on his face. Dean lowered his own phone from his ear slowly, meeting Sam’s eyes at the same time as they both realised exactly what it meant: Cas doesn’t want to be found.

***

Dean stays up well into the night, drinking and reading porn magazines, all the while staring at Castiel’s silent cell phone stowed away on the shelf opposite him. It’s the only thing he has left of the angel, and Dean has to keep quashing the idea that Cas may never come back at all. They wanted to look for him, but where the hell would they even start? Cas could be a hundred miles away by now, wanting and achieving as much space between he and Dean as possible. Dean’s heart hurts at the thought. He really, really misses his angel and the guilt is starting to suffocate him. Last time Castiel left the bunker, he ended up getting stabbed and it was only pure chance that the brothers arrived in time to save him. This time is entirely different: Cas has left of his own accord, heartbroken, and it’s all Dean’s fault. He has no idea where the angel would go, and spends hours trying to think of something, _anything_ , to form a lead. Finding Cas is his new self-imposed case but so far he’s come up with absolutely nothing to go on. 

Right now, if Cas were here, the stoic dark-haired dork would be sitting on the sofa near Dean, legs crossed at the ankles, nose buried in a book while Dean listened to music or watched Netflix or just pestered Cas and tried to get his attention because why not? Cas would send him small, sweet little smiles and eventually shove Dean away from him if he became too irritating. Dean would always be the first to retire to bed, but he would always hear the angel go fairly soon after him, evidently tiring of his own company. Occasionally, Dean could have sworn Cas stopped outside his door, and now that he thinks back he wonders if his friend was pausing, desperate to talk to Dean and try to admit his feelings but never managing to quite work up the courage.

The thoughts of bedtime pull Dean from the sofa and he staggers down the corridor and into his own room, collapsing on his back and staring at the ceiling, still fully-clothed and more than slightly drunk. He reaches over and shuts the lights off, fumbling simultaneously with the button on his jeans. As his knuckles brush accidentally over his cock, he lets out a pleasured hiss of surprise. He’s half-erect under the denim, and Dean palms himself gently, savouring the sensation of rough fabric on his skin. He never bothers with underwear these days, and right now he’s glad he doesn’t. He lifts his hips and slides his jeans down and off, and settles properly on the bed, alcohol blurring his vision and dragging him blissfully towards sleep, the pleasant throbbing in his groin a welcome distraction from thoughts of Cas. He's in that limbo state of almost asleep but not quite, almost dreaming and not in full control of his thoughts, and his mind starts to wander.

Damn Cas, why did he have to make things so awkward? If he hadn't said anything, if things had just stayed as they were, Dean could have spent the evening on the sofa with the angel enjoying his company, instead of alone and bitter. He really does enjoy Castiel’s company. He's sweet, caring, takes himself a little too seriously but it's endearing, and always has time for Dean. Maybe Sam wasn't totally wrong when he used the word ‘devoted’. Castiel does always have a look of absolute devotion in his eyes whenever he looks at the hunter. Dean sighs, eyes closed, stroking himself lazily now. He's starting to slip away into dreamland; the grip he has on himself is delicious but not nearly enough, and the thought that Castiel would know just how to touch him if he were here flashes into his mind and Dean moans quietly at the thought. His friend always did have the kind of touch that sent shivers down Dean’s spine.

It doesn't cross his mind that he shouldn't be thinking about the angel this way - Dean’s too far gone for that. He imagines Castiel walking in, coming home and pushing Dean’s bedroom door open to find him like this, and instead of balking and yelling at Cas to get out, Dean only invites him closer. The dream takes a firmer hold, and in Dean’s mind he can picture the angel climbing onto the bed on top of him, pressing their bodies together deliciously, and kissing Dean until he can't breathe. Castiel would be soft, hesitant, not wanting to push Dean but adding more and more passion the longer the kiss lasted. His body would be hard and firm on top of Dean’s, pinning him in place and rocking sensually against him, Cas’ hips fitting perfectly between Dean’s spread legs. His mouth would be hot on Dean’s, his lips gentle yet insistent, tasting deliciously of cinnamon and vanilla. His hands would be everywhere, touching Dean all over his heated body, carding through his hair, tracing the line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his lips…

And Dean would touch Cas as though he were something precious to be treasured and revered. Nobody had ever touched the angel without the intention of hurting him, not intimately, and Dean would make it so good for Cas that he would never feel shunned or used or rejected ever again. Cas would be gasping and moaning so prettily for Dean, writhing under Dean’s hands as they explored each other, hands and mouths everywhere, learning this new intimacy and chasing every touch with unimaginable pleasure…

Dean comes. It’s a gentle, pulsing orgasm that goes on and on, his entire body tightening with intense pleasure and trembling with each perfect aftershock, Castiel’s name at his lips. He collapses back onto the pillows, barely awake, barely enough energy to wipe himself off with a t-shirt and drag the covers over him, and he falls asleep instantly. Within seconds he's sinking into dreams of Cas embracing him, kissing him, telling Dean that he would give his life for the hunter and that Dean is the only reason he still exists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments help me write faster ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Dean sleeps for a few more hours before rallying himself from his bed and heading for the shower, his mind racing with thoughts of Cas. The memory of his dream swims to the forefront of his mind again as the water cascades down on him, and he shuts his eyes to focus on it. The exquisite feeling of Cas’ hands caressing his body and bringing him endless pleasure; his rich, low voice whispering in his ear all the words Dean has longed to hear for more years than he can remember; the feeling of Castiel’s silken skin under his palms as he ran his hands up over the angel’s hips to his chest as Cas hovered overhim, kissing him deeply…

Dean’s hand comes out and he shoves the temperature dial as low as it will go. He cannot think about Cas this way, it isn’t right. The water changes from pleasantly warm - a warmth that was aiding and abetting his growing arousal - to icy cold and he yelps and jumps backwards, shutting it off with a low growl of irritation. Cas should _not_ be doing this to him; the guy isn’t even _here_ and he’s messing with Dean’s head. He towels himself off roughly, angry with the world, and storms towards the kitchen, trying not to think of what orgasm face would look like, and trying to force himself not to care what Cas’ skin would taste of.

***

So lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t really hear the murmur of low voices and a ripple of laughter, Dean walks into the kitchen in search of food, in nothing but his faded jeans, t-shirt swinging from his hand and stops dead when silence fell over the entire room. He thought he’d hear Sam and his mother talking, but what he hasn't heard were the other two voices joining their conversation. Sam averts his gaze awkwardly, Mary immediately busies herself making coffee, and Dean is left to stand staring dumbly at the other two present in the room and to hear his heart hammer in his ears. An angel and a demon greet him, and neither look particularly happy to see him.

His angel, Castiel, is standing just a little too close to Crowley and looking just a little too…different to what Dean remembers. And the look on both their faces floors him the moment he focuses properly and his entire upper body flushes hot with humiliation.

Crowley says nothing, just inclines and eyebrow and smirks but Cas…Dean isn't sure whether or not to be offended by Castiel’s reaction. He rolls his eyes, just a tiny amount, then shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away from Dean completely to help Mary make the coffee. The demon’s eyes roam gleefully over Dean’s pecs and down to his abs, just stopping at the waistband of his jeans before flicking up so he can wink and smirk.

“My, my, squirrel. That's quite a package you've got there. Forgot the gift-wrapping, did you?”

“Fuck off, Crowley,” Dean growls, fuming and turning his back on them all so he can pull his t-shirt on over his head and curse himself for not realising they had company. And what the fuck is Cas doing with Crowley, yet _again_? “The hell are you doing here, anyway? You ever hear of sociable hours?”

“It’s ten am, squirrel, most people have done half a day’s work by now, unless they’re a Winchester - no offence, Sam.”

Crowley throws an aside to Sam, who just shrugs and stares down into his coffee, back against a pillar, watching the exchange with trepidation. Dean is distracted just for a second at the sound of Castiel laughing, loudly, at something Mary says and he watches, bristling, as Cas affectionately puts a hand on the small of her back, leaning in to grab something from the kitchen and hand it to her. Dean isn’t even sure what he’s bothered by: Cas bonding with his mother (they’re family, after all) or the fact that he can almost feel what Castiel’s hand would feel like on his back and he’s annoyed that it isn’t him standing at the counter, laughing joyously with the angel like they had no care in the world.

Finally, eventually, Castiel and Mary turn back to them, and Cas appraises the hunter with a raised brow and a slightly sardonic expression that Dean has never seen before - one that he must have learned from Crowley. _Crowley_! Why the hell is the demon in his home, snuggling up to his angel, _yet again_?

But Cas…Cas looks… _different_. And it takes Dean a second to work out exactly why. The trench coat is gone, replaced instead by a dark blazer over a characteristically-Cas white shirt, open collar - one button over than usual - and in place of his ill-fitting work slacks were dark denim jeans. Cas looks relaxed, casual but still smart, and Dean’s mouth runs a little dry at the sight of him. The angel’s hair is different too: artfully messed up in the same way it was when he introduced himself to Dean in the barn, and he’s shaved just a little closer than he normally does. He looks…Dean struggles against the word but eventually has to give in. Castiel looks fucking _hot_. And there’s no way in hell that Sam and Mary haven’t noticed the difference: Sam is staring as though he’s never seen the angel before, and Mary has a distinct upwards smirk to her lips that Dean really does not like. It’s like they’re all in on some clever joke and he’s the outsider, the butt of it all. He stomps moodily to the counter and pours himself a drink since nobody bothered to hand him one, then throws himself down at the table dramatically, waiting for someone to clue him in on what the hell is going on. 

“Cheer up, squirrel, you look like someone ran over your favourite puppy.” Crowley pulls out a chair and joins Dean with a gleeful grin; the others follow suit apart from Cas, who stands with his arms folded, one hand wound around his cup, leaning against the nearest pillar and saying nothing at all. Dean is aware of the angel’s eyes on him, but as soon as he flicks his gaze up to meet the blue eyes of his best friend, Cas appears intently focused on what Crowley is saying. “We’re here to borrow a couple of spell books and pillage your supplies. Nothing untoward, and we’ll return everything. We promise, don’t we, Feathers?”

“Yes,” Castiel speaks, finally, and there’s no trace of humour in his tone at all now. He’s grave, serious, and cold, and Dean can’t hold back a shiver. “We promise.”

Dean doesn't like the whole ‘we’ thing, not one bit. _He_ and Cas are the ‘we’, not the bloody demon. And what the fuck is Castiel doing, turning up on the arm of the King of Hell looking like _that_? It's doing things to Dean both physically and emotionally that he just does not want. Dammit, Cas…

“Castiel, you know that anything we have at our disposal is yours.” Mary smiles at Cas and he returns it warmly, some of the tension in his shoulders melting away. Then, as he chances a look at Dean and their eyes meet, he adjusts his stance and is back to rigid discomfort once again. Dean swears the air between them both is sparking and everyone else can sense it too.

“Cas,” it comes out as a squeak and Dean has to clear his throat in embarrassment and repeat himself. “Cas, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?” He stresses the ‘alone’ part more for his brother and mother - he knows they would be eavesdropping on the conversation given half a chance, besides he wants to get the angel the hell away from Crowley and find out where he's been, what he's been doing and why the hell he’s turned up looking drop dead gorgeous and won't even give Dean more than a cursory glance? Of course, he knows the answer to the last one but it won't hurt (too much) to ask.

He stands up, prepared to walk off down the corridor with Cas in tow, and has already taken a few steps before he gets a reply, and it isn't the one he's expecting.

“No,” Cas says simply, and Dean wonders if he's misheard him. He turns to look at the angel, but Cas hasn't moved an inch. He's appraising Dean with an unreadable expression, one that looks almost…bored. What the fuck is going on?

“No? Did you just say no?”

“Do you need your ears cleaning out, Dean?” Cas asks him mildly, ignoring the open-mouthed surprise on Mary and Sam’s faces. Dean's own expression, he's sure, is on another level entirely. “I said no. Crowley and I have things to do, I can't hang around for idle chit-chat. Sorry.”

But he doesn't look remotely sorry, and Dean has the sudden urge to grab the angel by the arm and just yank him off to another room and sort everything the hell out. This isn't him and Cas, they don't behave this way towards each other.

“Cas, come on, you can spare a moment. You can't be in that much of a rush. Crowley, my mother can show you-”

“Dean, I said no.” Castiel’s voice is icy now, and infused with ire. Dean isn't sure whether or not he lightbulbs in the bunker flicker for a second or if it's just his overactive imagination taking him back to the time when Cas looked like he does now, walking into the barn with sparks flying at the most intense expression in his blue eyes that Dean had ever seen. “I'm busy. You'll have to wait.”

“Cas, I just want-”

“You know something, Dean?”

Castiel unwinds himself from his position against the pillar and takes a step forwards. In his peripheral vision, Dean sees his mom and Sam lean back a little, clearly perturbed; Crowley just sits quietly and observes as Cas advances towards Dean, who takes an unconscious step back. Cas deposits his cup on the table next to Crowley’s and folds his arms again, a picture of closed-off anger, and his eyes look like the depths of the Pacific.

“I spent years of my life doing the things you asked me to do. Devoting my time and energy to worrying about you and your brother, fighting Heaven and Hell not only to keep you safe but to make sure you were as happy as you could be. I guess you've become too used to me doing whatever you ask, and following you about like a stray dog. I'm busy now, Dean, I have priorities other than you, and for once in a very long time the things you _want_ don't come first. And you don't like it.” Cas has advanced on the hunter until they're standing face-to-face, mere inches apart. Dean can smell cinnamon on Cas’ and…is that whiskey? He swallows, struggling physically with the angel’s proximity; half of him wants to deck Cas, send him spilling back across the table away from him, and the other half wants to grab the angel and…

“Might I suggest,” Crowley’s low, drawling voice intervenes between Dean and Cas’ staring contest. Dean has never noticed the fine lines around Castiel’s eyes before, or how chapped his lips are. “That Feathers and I continue about our business and return when we have less…distractions?”

The demon appears at their side, somehow nudging Cas away without touching him. The angel’s gaze doesn't break from Dean’s until at least six feet separate them, and when he finally looks away Dean is swamped with a mixture of dismay and relief. Castiel’s eyes…he had almost been drowning in them. He hears Crowley mutter something and the angel nods, turning to Mary with an apologetic smile.

“Mary. I apologise; you should have to bear witness to trivial spats between myself and Dean. We’re being childish,” Dean’s hackles rise at the word. “Please could you help me locate a few books in the library, and Sam can help Crowley. We have a list of items we need…”

Then, somehow, Dean is left alone, standing completely still in the spot Cas had him pinned to. The angel has expertly guided Mary and his brother away, and Crowley has followed. Dean is left alone, angrier and feeling more foolish than he has done in a long time - and trying to ignore the ache between his thighs.

And it's all _Castiel’s_ fault.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your hits, kudos and comments, it really means the world to me. Updates will be a lot slower this week as I fly to J2M's playground (aka the beautiful city of Rome) tomorrow for 5 nights; I'll try to post updates on the hotel wifi if I can!

Crowley and Castiel leave without another word to Dean. Mary disappears to her bedroom to read, and Sam sits down at the table opposite his brother, who is once again feigning interest in a textbook and nursing a glass of Jack. It's a good minute or two before Sam speaks, and to Dean’s shock he teaches over and pours himself a glass of whiskey as he does.  
“You need to talk to Cas.”

Dean blinks, convinced he just hallucinated for a second, and carries on staring blankly at a page about goddess circles.

“Dean,” Sam leans forward, determined to get his brother’s attention. “You and Cas, you need to sort this out.”

“Excuse me?” Dean lowers the book with a raised eyebrow, his mouth downturned in a grimace. “Were you fucking asleep during that little exchange? I tried talking to him, he wanted nothing to do with me. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Try again,” Sam persists. “He's angry with you Dean, and he's hurt, so he's giving you a hard time. You need to make it up to him.”

“Excuse me? ‘Make it up to him’? He's not my damn boyfriend, Sammy. Much as he would like to be.” Dean snorts, picking up the book again. “And he had the nerve to call me childish?”

“He said you were both being childish, which you are. At least he can admit it.”

“Well, good for Cas.”

Dean’s shutting down, in no mood to talk, still fuming and humiliated from the way Castiel spoke to him in front of his family. Their family. Cas should know better. It doesn't matter how he feels: certain things should be discussed in private, and Castiel’s little speech should have been one of them. He feels damn mortified at being talked down to, but a nagging voice in his head keeps throwing in the idea that he isn't just mad because Castiel finally found his voice. He's mad because Castiel is right. He doesn't like it not one bit; he's used to being the angel’s number one, and now he seems to have slipped so far down the ladder he's barely clinging on with his fingernails. The damn demon has seen more of Cas in the last month than he has.

And whose fault is that? The voice is back, sneering at Dean, taunting him. He was there Dean, waiting for you. You could have been his number one in every way possible. He wants you to be. But instead, you’re throwing away everything you could ever dream of and more, and for what? Because you can't get over falling in love with a dude, and it bothers you so much that you've buried everything you want to feel for him so deep that you can barely find it yourself any more?

Dean’s about to throw a witty retort in Sam’s direction when his face snaps in shock at his own thoughts. Back the fuck up there a second…falling in love…?

“Fine!” Sam throws his hands up, defeated. “Stay here and sulk, do whatever you like. You're determined to be unhappy, so go for it. Spend your life alone, when there's someone right in front of you dying to give you everything you want. Stay in denial; stay angry, do whatever you want - you always do, anyway. Nobody tells Dean Winchester what to do. Cas seems to have the right idea anyway - he's at least trying to move on. By the time you come to your senses no doubt it will be too late anyway. But fuck it. I'm done caring.”

Sam screeches his chair back and starts to storm off, before thinking better of it and swiping Dean’s bottle of Jack. Dean glowers, but wisely doesn't comment. He's far too entrenched in his own jarring realisation to think up something cutting to say.

“Oh, and Dean?” Sam doesn't speak again until his brother rolls his eyes and looks up to meet his gaze. “Cas took his cell phone with him this time. Just so you know.”

Dean throws a book at Sam’s retreating back; it hits the ground and the spine breaks, sending pages cascading everywhere. Dean’s glass follows it seconds later.

***

Castiel is unhappy.

Crowley has left for a few days to attend to some urgent business, leaving the angel to fend for himself and Cas has done nothing but wander listlessly through the small town they’ve found themselves in, and depress himself with thoughts of Dean. He’s sitting in a French-themed cafe, with coffee and pancakes in front of him, flicking dispassionately through a newspaper. It’s been a week since he left the bunker, left Dean staring after him as he climbed the stairs in Crowley’s wake, and he could have sworn the look in the human’s eyes had been one of longing. He toyed with the idea that Dean had, as Crowley so candidly put it, ‘come to his fucking senses’ but he wasn’t risking going back to find out. Not yet. The ache in his chest comes and goes in waves, normally assaulting him at night when he’s alone with too much time to think.

He flips to the next page and a handsome face with startling green eyes smiles up at him and Cas blinks. Dean? Then his vision focuses and no, he isn’t looking at the hunter’s face, just a guy in an advert for teeth whitening kits who looks just like him. Cas sighs, shutting the newspaper and signalling for the bill. He hasn’t touched his food, his appetite waxing and waning with his mood. He’s so fucked. He thought spending time with the demon would cure him of - what was it? - his ‘human problem’, damn Crowley and his way with words, but the longer he spends away from the bunker the more he misses everything about it. About the Winchesters. About Dean.

He misses Dean’s smiles. The gleeful, shit-eating grins, the small smiles that look almost timid, the smirks he sends in Castiel’s direction whenever he thinks the angel isn’t really looking, he misses them all. He misses the green of his eyes. Not just green; the colour of Dean’s eyes seems to change with his emotions. Hazel flecked with moss, swirling to a deep ivy, changing to a kaleidoscope of emerald. Deans brows furrowing above them or raising in amusement. His firm jawline, day-old stubble, bed-head hair… Cas can picture Dean so clearly it hurts. His choice of clothing had always fascinated the angel: ugly plaid shirts didn’t do him justice. The tight t-shirts he had caught Dean in when he was wandering through the bunker, now they were items Cas could get on board with. Under his clothing, the hunter looked muscular and strong, and Cas ached for those arms to pull him close, that chest to prop him up and those legs to be intertwined with his. For Dean’s hands to come up around his neck, caress his lips, and strip him of his new jeans and make a mess of his freshly-styled hair. Cas swallows; he can feel heat pooling between his legs and suddenly feels abashed to be sitting in a public place and fantasising about the man he’s been obsessed with for years. He needs somewhere more private.

He pays and leaves, quickly, making his way back to their motel and locking himself in, safe in the knowledge that Crowley won’t be back for another couple of days. With shaking hands, fighting a pang of guilt that he shouldn’t really be doing this while thinking of Dean, he strips his clothing off and turns the shower on. He’s learned how to pleasure himself over the years, although his first few awkward attempts just felt embarrassingly unsatisfying. But now, after his time spent as a human and the relentless porn he kept finding on Dean’s laptop, he’s worked out what he likes. He still feels too exposed, lying on his bed in the middle of the day with his hand cupping himself sans clothing, so he resorts to the shower: one of his favourite places to touch himself and elicit pleasured moans and gasps from his own lips.

He steps under the spray and relaxes instantly. He doesn’t really need to shower, his grace is all he needs to maintain his body, but it’s one of his favourite things to do. He feels his tense muscles unwind naturally as he lathers shower gel over his chest and under his arms, the ache between his groin delicious and demanding, as he draws out his exploration of his own body. He’s well-built, strong, not as ripped as Dean or Sam but not unfit. He thinks he’s attractive, objectively speaking. Gradually, his hands work lower over his stomach and hips, dragging up his thighs to cup himself, one hand encircling the base of his erection and the other cupping his balls and he bites out a low moan. His body is aways so responsive, so sensitive, and he’s finally learned how to draw out the pleasure and build it up to a shattering crescendo, instead of relentlessly chasing his orgasm until it broke over him, as he had done back in the early days. He strokes himself lazily, enjoying the gentle pulses of ectasy that roll through him, and conjures up a picture of the hunter. Dean’s soft, sensuous smile, the way he used to look at Cas with that intensity, the look that made the angel’s spine tingle and his heart pound. Dean’s strong, calloused hands coming up to touch his naked, wet skin, stroking his chest and moving lower to push his own hands away and caress Castiel’s cock with sinful intent. Cas moans at the thought of Dean’s fingers encircling him, stripping his throbbing cock with precise, experienced strokes, his lips coming to Castiel’s neck and kissing, licking, leaving hot red trails where he gets over-zealous with his teeth.

Cas leans back against the wall, his hips arching forwards as he thrusts gently into his own palm, imagining Dean in front of him. Dean, standing close, holding Cas, playing with him and teasing him and whispering sweet words into his ear as he trailed his free hand down the angel’s spine…

Cas releases himself quickly, and slicks two fingers with shower gel, reaching behind himself and stroking softly down between his own cheeks. He’s throbbing, pulsing with need, and he palms himself roughly with his fist twisting sharply at the end, the slight drag of pain pulling a gasp from him and keeping him from approaching the edge too quickly. Dean would be perfectly rough, deliciously firm and commanding as he took control of Cas’ body, massaging his crack and dipping his fingers down to catch on Cas’ rim. He strokes his own entrance lightly with slick fingers, the pounding of the hot water on his over-sensitised chest and shoulders only serving to turn him on even more. He knows he’s panting now, gasping gently as delicious waves of pleasure crest and break over him, his orgasm in sight but he’s not ready yet. He spreads his legs a little, leaning most of his weight against the wall, and explores between his legs with his own fingers. Had Dean ever been with another man? Cas didn’t think so; he wanted to be the hunter’s first, and he wanted Dean to be the first person to penetrate him - apart from himself, of course. Cas slides a gel-slick finger into himself, tugging wickedly at his own rim as he does so, and moans spill from him.

“Dean…God, yes, please…”

Castiel’s eyes have fallen closed, and he’s imaging the hunter’s fingers pressing into him - he adds a second, using a little of his grace to ease the burn - and thrusts gently in a firm rhythm to match his hand on his dripping cock. He smears precome down his length, Dean’s name on his lips again, and twists his fingers until he catches his prostate and ecstasy explodes through his body; his groin throbs and he knows he’s close. He’s in a good rhythm now, thrusting forward into his palm and back onto his fingers, surrounded by steam and searing warm water, and he’s rapidly approaching the edge.

“Dean…Dean, more…”

He adds a third finger, spreading them to stretch his hole and groans as he feels a tightening in his stomach, his thighs tensing and every muscle winding tight as he approaches climax…

“Dean!”

He comes with a wrung-out cry, arching into his own hand, three fingers buried deep into his own body as he spurts come all over his own fist and stomach, dragging the pleasure from his aching body with moan after moan of ecstasy. He sags against the wall, then writhes with a whine as aftershocks crash over him, and works his fingers just a little more, drawing it all out and arching as he strips his wet, come-slick cock and another gentle pulse of come drips from his tip. Fuck. His head cracks back against the tiles, eyes still closed as he tries to catch his breath and, just to tease himself, he nudges his prostate again and whimpers as his cock pulses again, softening, but still dripping come every time he presses just a little too much into himself. It’s almost painful, over-sensitive, but he enjoys the ache. His legs are shaking, and he slowly draws his fingers out and slides down to sit on the floor of the shower stall, still cupping himself, and can’t find it in him to open his eyes. The vision of Dean’s face is still so vivid, and Cas imagines the hunter kissing him, caressing his skin and telling him how beautiful he finds Castiel, how gorgeous he was when he came, how much Dean loves him.

Cas doesn’t mean to start crying; the rush of emotions that flood through him following such an intense orgasm bring with them a wave of tears. Cas’ eyes open and seeing nothing but clinical white tiles brings reality home with a sharp crash, and in the privacy and peace of the shower, he sobs quietly for something he knows he can never have.

***

The days pass slowly, turning into weeks. They find the rogue demons and Castiel helps Crowley dispatch them, then they set off after a couple more. It's entertaining enough, keeps Castiel occupied so that he doesn't have to think about his hunter or his ruined heart, but he starts to feel listless without Dean’s warm presence and tender smile. The nights are the worst; he lies awake for hours staring at the ceiling and fighting off memories. He hasn't cried in a while though, so he considers that a plus.

Crowley tries unsuccessfully to hook him up with people, both men and women, but Cas isn't interested. They all either remind him too much of Dean or not enough. They're sitting in a bar, half-heartedly debating what the results of the current presidential campaign could be and how it would affect the humans and their disjointed little world, both a little merry and at ease in each other's company, when Crowley abruptly starts on at Castiel again to pick a battle: go back and confront Dean or move on. Dammit, he is moving on; it's just taking a little longer than he expected. Confronting Dean just isn't an option. It would be pointless at any rate - he’s convinced himself he was imagining any sign of affection in Dean’s face and that it’s only Cas’ stupid too-close-to-human heart inventing things for his mind to toy with.

“For God’s sake, Feathers.” Crowley slams his glass on the table in irritation, and the angel realises the demon has probably been talking for a while, with Cas ignoring him in favour of his own thoughts. “This is getting bloody old, it really is. Have you been listening to a single word I’ve been saying?

“No.” Cas is honest, and drinks his beer while avoiding the demon’s eyes. He watches a couple of people walk in, hand-in-hand and laughing, and swallows hard. He forces his eyes over to meet the demon and Crowley starts on again about how dull Castiel’s obsession is becoming, how he’s trying his damnedest to help him get over it but the angel is proving too difficult, that he’s going to drag him back to the bunker and leave him there soon if he doesn’t stop pining, on and on and on until…

Crowley stops talking abruptly as Castiel’s cell phone starts to ring.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a short one...I'll make it up to you with the next one, I promise ;)

Castiel crashes through the door of the bunker followed, at a somewhat more docile pace, by Crowley who is talking quietly into his own cell. Cas doesn't give Sam or Mary a chance to speak; he approaches the younger Winchester so quickly and with so much force that Sam backs right up until his back is jammed against the library wall and he has nowhere else to go. Cas is inches from his face, and Sam can see the sparks in his blue eyes as they glimmer with barely-restrained emotion. Cas actually growls at him when he speaks.

  
“Where is he?”

Sam is reminded of the angel they first met: the intensity in Cas’ voice sends a violent shiver down Sam’s spine, one he can't hide. Cas either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because his hands come up to grip Sam’s upper arms and he shakes him lightly. He isn’t sure, but he swears the lights in the bunker flicker a little as the angel speaks.

“Sam! Where is he?”

“Cas, I don’t-“

“Sam!”

This time, the lights definitely flicker. They do more than flicker; bulbs crack and electricity sparks and hisses and for one terrifying moment Sam fears the angel is going to hit him. The intense desperation in Cas’ voice causes it to crack, and his blue eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. He’s worried, Sam realises. More than that: he’s frightened.

“I don’t know, Cas. That’s why I called you.” Sam is still pinned in place by Castiel’s hands on his arms, twisted in to the fabric of his shirt, and they tighten minutely as Sam speaks. “At first I thought he had just gone out to get some air. Some space, maybe. Then when it got late I figured he’d gone to a bar, met some girl…” Sam shakes his head, dropping his gaze from the angel’s when he feels like his soul is about to burst into flames and he can’t take it any more. “And that was three days ago. I thought I’d give him some time, but now…I’m worried, man. I hoped you might have heard from him.”

“I haven't.” Some of Castiel’s ire seems to dissipate, and he steps away from Sam with a look verging on apologetic. “I haven't heard from Dean in…it's been a while.”

And Sam knows what he means. Knows how much it hurts Cas to be so distant from the hunter, so separated. He doesn't need to see the flicker in Castiel’s blue eyes, or the line of tension in his shoulders. He knows Cas wants more than anything to be back with them, at Dean’s side. It just hurts the angel too much right now.

“How can we find him, Cas?” Sam can't keep the edge out of his voice. “I'm…I'm worried. He hasn't been himself lately, not since…since you left.”

“Me?” Cas looks taken aback, and actually steps away from Sam at his words. “What do I have to do with it?”

“I think…I don't know, Cas, what's going through his head but I know he misses you. You know what he's like: he'll will freeze over before he talks about his feelings. But I can tell. He's not the same without you around. And seeing you and Crowley here, and you looking so, well, different…I think that had an impact.”

“Different?” Cas is definitely confused now. “I don't look different.”

“The clothes, Cas. And you're, I don't know…just not quite as stiff as you were. Dean noticed,” Sam shrugs, the concern still plain in his eyes. “I know he did.”

“We’ll find your brother, Sam.” Cas’ brows are furrowed, and he's thinking hard about what Sam has just said to him. About Dean missing him… “Won’t we, Crowley?” He snaps at the demon who raises an arched eyebrow at him and sighs dramatically.

“Oh fine; Feathers, you owe me. But I’ll put an ear to the ground. Your squirrel can’t have scampered far.” A noise from above them draws their attention, and they all glance up towards the door at the top of the steps. “Although, it doesn’t look like you’re going to need my help.”

The door opens, finally, and Dean staggers through it only just catching himself on the railing before pitching over it to hit the ground below. It takes Castiel less than a second to realise that Dean is wasted: the stink of alcohol and cheap cologne has followed him in to the bunker and Cas wrinkles his nose in disgust. Dean staggers, almost falls down the stairs and eventually ends up leaning against a pillar, surveying them all with a drunk, almost insane grin.

“Where the hell have you been?” Cas speaks before Sam can even open his mouth, and even in his inebriated state Dean attempts to square up to him. The hunter’s eyes are dark and murky, red-rimmed, and he sways on the spot. His glare is far from threatening.

“Where have I been?” He slurs his words, mocking the question, and Cas resists the urge to slap him. “On a bender, Cas. On a fucking bender.” He throws back at Cas the words the angel had used years ago, and Cas loses his temper.

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean? Disappearing like that with not a word to Sam? You left him worried sick!”

Dean has advanced a few steps, unsteadily, but Cas is unperturbed. He doesn't move an inch, instead folds his arms and quirks an angry eyebrow at the inebriated hunter. Dean stinks, alcohol and junk food, and Cas is pissed. He's had enough of Dean doing and saying whatever he likes with no thought to anyone else; emotions he's been holding back for what feels like years are surging to the surface and he can't hold them back any more. Sam takes a wary step away; he's barely aware of Crowley watching them with an unreadable expression. He's pissed.

“You have no idea how irresponsible you are sometimes, Dean. How much people worry about you. You can't just vanish for days just because you feel like it, not in your line of work - imagine if Sam did the same!” Cas holds his hand up, palm facing Dean as the hunter tries to interject, and watches his face snap in shock. “You don't care, Dean, how much you hurt people, you're too involved in yourself, you're just too-”

But the never find out what else Cas thinks Dean is. Dean lunges for the angel. He swings, misses, falls forward onto the angel and Cas’ arms come up automatically to catch him. But something goes awry; Dean’s leg catches Castiel’s and the angel falls backwards, they twist round somehow to land hard on the floor of the bunker together - but Dean lands harder. His head cracks onto the concrete sickeningly and Cas is up and leaning over him instantly, worry creasing his features and his hand sliding up through Dean’s hair to check for blood. His fingers come away red and sticky, and Dean stares up at him with glazed, shocked eyes.

“Cas…”

“Dean-“

“Cas,” Dean’s voice cracks and his eyes close, a pained expression crossing his handsome face, and Castiel’s heart plummets. He touches his fingers to Dean’s forehead, ready to use his grace to heal the hunter, but Dean grabs his hand and pulls it away, just a little, so Castiel’s fingers hover over the hunter’s lips instead. Dean’s eyes open and their gazes meet; he just stares, deeply, up at his angel and is unable to find the words to say what he needs to. The whiskey in his veins is dulling his thoughts, and all he can see is Cas. All he can feel is Cas’ hands on him, the angel still half-lying on top of him pinning him down, and his traitorous body starts to respond in ways he can barely fathom: his eyes fill with tears at the same time as his groin pulses deliciously, and Dean doesn’t know what the hell to do. All he knows is that Cas is here, Cas is back, and if he manages to say and do the right things then surely his angel won’t leave again so quickly. Surely Dean can rescue this, save their friendship and maybe…just maybe…

Cas sits up, pulling Dean up with him and somehow hauls them both to their feet. Crowley and Sam are watching them, the demon’s eyebrows raised so high that they almost disappear into his receding hairline, and Sam doesn’t seem to know whether to speak or not. Castiel saves him the trouble, dragging the drunk hunter by the elbow towards the corridor leading to the bedrooms without a backward glance even as the demon snorts out an incredulous laugh at Dean’s inebriated state.

“Dean and I need to talk. Alone.”


	9. Chapter 9

It's harder than Castiel realised it would be, getting a drunken Dean down the corridor and into his own room so they can talk in private. The hunter keeps grabbing Cas’ arms, pushing him against the wall and dragging him about, evidently trying to tell him something but coming up short with nothing but a plaintive look and an open mouth reminiscent of a goldfish. Cas eventually loses his temper again, and drags Dean by the collar of his jacket unceremoniously, making them both stumble about, eventually making it to his bedroom where he shoves him none-too-gently through the door and slams it closed behind them.

“For God’s sake, Dean!”

Cas is breathing hard through his nose, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides as Dean totters and falls back to lands sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling and arms out as though he's being crucified. He winces, bringing his hand unsteadily to the back of his head an grimaces as he remembers, and tries to push the angel away as he comes forward, a concerned look on his handsome face.

“Dean, let me. Dean!”

Cas shoves his hands away and presses two fingers to the hunter’s forehead. Seconds later, Dean feels as though cold water is being poured into his veins, followed by a delicious warmth that stays with him long after the angel’s fingers and grace are gone. His head isn't pounding any more, and the threat of nausea that had followed him down the stairs and into the bunker and forced him to tangle with Cas has receded; he doesn't feel quite sober but he's much closer to that neighbourhood than he was a second ago.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Cas sits back on the bed and stares at him with an unreadable expression. Then he sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and his face changes to concerned, pissed off, and sympathetic all at once. “Dean, drinking has never solved anything in the past. Why would it solve things now?”

“Dunno, Cas.” Dean looks at his hands, twisted together on his stomach. “Didn't have anything else to do. You'd gone, Sammy just won't let up, and I just wanted to forget for a while.”

They're silent for a moment, before Cas asks: “Sam won't let up about what, exactly?”

“You.” A pause. “Me.” Another pause, a longer one. “Us.”

“Dean, I don't know what he's said to you, but there isn't an us. I know that, and…” Cas exhales, suddenly chastised. “I should have handled it better. I shouldn't have just run off like that; we needed to talk it all out and instead I did the very thing I'm telling you off for. I suppose that makes me a-”

“Dick?” There's a ghost of a smirk at Dean’s lips, and Cas can't help but return it.

“I was going to say ‘hypocrite’ but your word is probably more accurate. I did act like a dick. And I'm sorry for leaving that way, for running off with Crowley and trying to bury everything. It wasn't fair on you. It hasn't been fair on you for a long time. I should have kept it to myself, not put all this out there for you to deal with. I was so frightened of losing our friendship, and now…” Cas can barely say the next words. “I feel like I've damaged things forever between us. I should never have said anything; I didn't mean to. But at the time…”

“You thought you were dying, Cas.” Dean sits up and extends a hand, almost like he's going to take Castiel’s but seems to change his mind halfway and let's it drop to the bed instead. “We all did. And if you had…and you hadn't told me…fuck, I don't know what I would have done.” He looks distressed suddenly, and Cas feels another wave of guilt.

“You wouldn't have known. So you wouldn't have done anything. You'd have grieved the loss of a friend, that's all.”

“Dick.” Dean shoves him, and Cas almost falls off the bed. “You know what I mean. Why do you have to be so literal about everything?”

Cas shrugs, chancing a smile and Dean returns it warmly. He does take Cas’ hand this time, and the angel is surprised to find it shaking. He looks down at where their fingers are clasped together, frowning, then up at Dean and there's something in the hunter’s emerald eyes that makes his breath hitch. Dean is looking at him as though seeing him for the very first time, and Cas has to remind himself that the hunter is still a little drunk, that he's only imagining that glimmer of longing in the green eyes he adores so much.

“Cas, when I thought I was losing you…” Dean exhales sharply, dropping his gaze to their joined hands. “I didn't know what to do. I couldn't process it properly, man. I kept waiting for the punchline, then when it seemed like it wasn't coming…when you said what you did…I just couldn't deal. I just shut down. Then when it was all over and we were home, I just wanted to forget it all happened, you know?” Dean anxiously meets the eyes of the angel, who is frowning at him and doing that head tilt thing that Dean finds so…no, not adorable. Something else. OK, it's adorable. “Then you left and God, I felt like I was losing you all over again. Like I'd lost a limb, or my favourite gun or…no, you're not a gun, you're not a tool to me, I didn't mean that,” Dean backpedals hastily at the crestfallen look on Cas’ face at being compared to an inanimate object. “You're like…” He casts around for the right words, still feeling slightly drunk, and that's probably what causes his mouth to work before he's engaged his brain. “The other half of me. The half I didn't realise I was missing, the one that keeps me sane and functioning, because Jesus, Cas, with you gone I'm not me any more. I'm…” Dean realises what he's saying and drops his head into his hands, pulling away from Cas. “I'm fucking this up.”

“You're not. You're absolutely not.” Cas sounds a bit dazed, a bit withdrawn, but when Dean peeks at him through laced fingers he sees Castiel’s eyes are just as soft as they were a minute before. “We should have talked about all this weeks ago. We should have been honest with each other. I wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry.”

“I am, too. I reacted so badly. I was shocked. No,” Dean corrects himself with a deep breath. “I wasn't. I guess I knew, but I wasn't ready to hear it. Does that sound weird?”

“Not at all.” Cas hesitates, then reaches for one of Dean’s hands, rubbing the back of it in circles. Dean’s skin tingles under the angel’s touch, and it's nothing to do with his celestial powers.

“I don't know what's the matter with me.” Dean heaves a sigh, knowing he's about to run his mouth again but figuring he may as well just go for it. He's already halfway there, anyway. “You're perfect, Cas, in every way and I'm…aside from the fact I'm not good enough for someone like you, I have no idea what you'd even want that I could give you. You're so selfless and brave, smarter than Sammy and I combined, you're a total badass when you want to be, and you're so fucking hot. I…I _want_ to want you, Cas. And I guess…oh fuck, I _do_ want you. I'm just…it's…I'm scared.” Dean finishes lamely, not daring to look up at the angel for a good minute. Silence reigns before Cas speaks again.

“You…think I'm…hot?” This is new information that Cas just can't process. The idea that Dean had ever even looked at him that way was staggering. He's fixated on that one point, before managing to process everything else Dean has so openly admitted, and realising how much courage it must have taken for the hunter to accept the words himself, let alone admit them out loud.

“But Cas…” Dean closes his eyes. “It's too much. It's too huge, I don't know if I can do it.”

“Nobody is pushing you, Dean.” Cas takes both the hunter’s hands in his, and doesn't speak again until Dean’s eyes are open and focused on his. “I don't want anything from you that you don't want yourself. I couldn't live with myself if I thought I'd coerced you into something you didn't want, or weren't ready for. If your friendship is all you can offer then, Dean, that's more than enough.” Cas lowers his eyes, tears pricking suddenly and making his nose twitch. “It's more than I deserve, Dean, after everything. I shouldn't even be asking that of you.”

“Cas, it's yours, of course it is.” Dean sits up, hurrying to placate his angel who is all of a sudden looking far too emotional for his liking. “Of course you have my friendship. And…and…I don't even know, Cas. I don't know what I want. But I feel like…maybe…there's more? Between us? I don't know,” Dean is rubbing circles into the back of Castiel’s hands, and both of them stare down at his thumbs as he does so. “I want there to be. And I think there is. I just…don't know how to get there.”

“I have a few ideas,” Cas shoots up a mischievous grin, and it's in equal parts shy and sinful. “But I need you to be completely on board with them, Dean, before we do anything at all.” And there's something in the angel’s voice, something that suggests he's holding back a long-nursed desire and Dean feels heat pool in between his legs at the idea of Castiel imagining them doing things together. He reaches for Cas but stops, shocked, when the angel leans away from him. “And right now, you're in no position to be making any decisions at all about us. You're drunk, Dean, and you need to sleep it off before we talk again. All right?”

“No.” Dean leans forward, gripping Cas’ forearms and trying to pull him forward again. Their proximity is suddenly very clear to Dean, and he can't help but look down at the angel’s two-day-old stubble and his full lips. Cas isn't exactly experienced when it comes to kissing, but Dean is and he's suddenly flushed with the desire to feel that mouth against his, to know what Cas tastes like, to hear him moan. He's right there. Dean could…maybe he could… “I'm fine, Cas, we can talk now, I promise.”

“No, Dean, I'm not doing this now.” With some effort, Cas prides himself out of Dean’s grip and gets to his feet, backing away towards the door, steeling himself against Dean’s puppy-dog eyes. Damn, he thought Sam was the master of those. “Get some sleep. I'll be here tomorrow, and we can talk then. OK?”

Dean nods, not knowing what else to say. He suddenly wishes it was the morning very, very badly. There's a look in Castiel’s eyes, one of longing and desire, and he's desperate to see more.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Just so you know. You're more than good enough for ‘someone like me’, as you put it. Just the way you are. You're perfect too.”

Something warm floods through Dean, something that has nothing to do with the alcohol in his veins or Cas’ grace being so nearby. He's never heard that word directed at him before, never. And to hear it from the lips of the man he admires more than anyone on earth..

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” Dean lies down, semi-clothed still, and pulls the covers up over himself, suddenly incredibly sleepy. “Just…just you, Cas. Don't leave again. Please. I'm no good without you,” his eyes are falling closed. “I need you. Need you…”

Cas closes the door quietly, and Dean is out like a light. 


	10. Chapter 10

Cas fidgets, more nervous than he cares to admit. He's sitting in the map room, slowly peeling an orange and waiting for Dean to wake up. He managed to get his head down for an hour or two, but most of the night was spent trying to work out exactly what he was going to say to Dean, and if Dean will even want to talk when dawn finally breaks. The chat with the hunter had taken a turn he wasn't altogether prepared for, and he was letting himself hope that Dean meant the things he said. The possibilities he alluded to. And he was becoming more and more sure that he hadn't imagined the flash of desire in Dean's eyes when he pulled closer and told Cas he wanted to continue talking. Cas had left for two reasons: he was fairly sure Dean was still a little inebriated and didn't want half a bottle of Jack clouding his emotions, but also Cas needed space. The culmination of so many weeks apart, so much stress and upset, has taken its toll and Cas needed to breathe. He's breathing now, without the hunter's hands on him, and he has space, all alone in the map room: and all he wants is Dean. He watches the clock tick, working on his fruit, and waits. He's waited for so long, what's another few minutes?

It takes Dean longer than it should to make his way down the corridor. He's sure Cas is around; in a weird way he can almost feel his presence in the bunker. The building feels less cold and hollow, warmer somehow and more…more like home. He rounds the corner and stops, suddenly consumed with nerves. Castiel is sitting at the table in the map room, a piece of orange clasped delicately between two fingers, a frown on his face as he thinks deeply about something, and looking so hot that Dean forgets all about his nerves just for a second and stares. Cas is in jeans again and a white Henley, and nothing else. He looks so casual and relaxed, it's as though Dean is almost seeing him for the first time. He wonders where Castiel’s other clothes are, if the outfit choice was a conscious one or maybe he just threw on the first thing he could find. Cas must have slept for a few hours in the bunker, he can't have stayed awake all night - and his hair is messier thank normal, leading Dean to think that if he did sleep it was a restless one. Dean cuts himself off before he starts thinking of Cas stripping to get ready for bed, Cas showering, Cas drying off with one of the towels as his tanned skin moves over lean muscle…

“Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean blinks, realises he's answered as though he's confirming that yes, his name is Dean, and clears his throat to try again. “Morning, Cas.”

"How did you sleep?"

"Fine." Dean turns his back on the angel to buy himself some time and try to regulate his breathing, and pours some coffee. A quick glance at Cas reveals he doesn't have any, so makes two mugs and sets one down in front of his friend, dragging out a chair and sitting down. He thinks about starting up some small talk, but knows it would just be stalling and he and Cas don't really have time for that. They've wasted so much time already...

"Cas, some of last night is a bit, um, hazy to me..." He's staring into his coffee but sees Cas flinch from the corner of his eye, and is quick to look up and reach for the angel. "I mean, I remember the important bits. Most of it. I just...I'm not sure exactly where we left off."

Cas is silent for quite a while, staring at where Dean's fingers are almost brushing his, just a few inches between them. For a frightening moment, Dean thinks the angel is just going to stand up and walk away - his whole body tenses and he looks like he wants to run. But then, sending a wave of blissful relief through Dean right down to his toes, he leans forward and closes that small gap by taking Dean's hand in his. And it's as though an electrical charge has gone off; Dean's skin tingles where Cas is touching him, and he feels shivers run up his spine. He swears his heart beats just a little faster. When he looks up, Castiel is looking at him with such intensity that his heart rate definitely doubles, and he swears he can feel his pupils dilate. It's the same look at Cas gave him once upon a time in the barn, the day they met: deep, probing, loaded, and it pins Dean in place. And in the same way that Cas didn't pull his words when he first set foot on earth, Cas asks him one simple question and it's almost Dean's undoing.

"What do you want for us, Dean?"

The hunter has to bite back his instinctive response of: everything. It scares him, the sudden rush of emotions that build every time he's near the angel, but at the same time it brings with it an intoxicating excitement that ebbs into the very core of his being. But he's scared. He's so, so scared. Scared of ruining things with Cas, destroying the friendship they both hold so dear, the friendship that has saved both their lives - and Sam's - on numerous occasions. If he lost that... He can't lose that. If he and Cas try it and it doesn't work, if they can't face each other any more or if they just fight all the time, what then? Cas might leave, or if he stays around life could become unbearably awkward, and Dean can't risk either of those things.

But what if it does work? What if he takes the risk, lets himself turn to Cas and lets himself feel everything he wants to feel so badly? What if he lets himself be loved by the angel, the way he's craved for so long? It won't be easy, Dean knows that all too well. He's too skittish when it comes to he and Cas, too nervous and holds on to far too much baggage and fears about what it all means, to fall in love with another man. What was it Sam said, that he could have everything he ever wanted and more? Well, surely that's something worth fighting for?

_What do you want for us, Dean?_

"...Everything."

It comes out as a whisper, one Dean isn't even aware he's said until Castiel's eyes widen and his hand tightens on Dean's to the point of discomfort. Dean waits. Waits for the inevitable rush of fear from within him to spill up and over, waits for himself to shove his chair away from the table and bolt from the map room, to bury himself in music and booze and just forget the last twenty-four hours. He waits for the freak-out. And he waits. And it doesn't come. He's gazing into Castiel’s beautiful blue eyes, noticing not for the first time how it's like staring up into the cloudless sky just as the sun sets and stars begin to gather: full of hope, desire, and new horizons. Full of the promise of freedom. His heart constricts, but it's not out of fear. Something else is tugging at him, something he doesn't think he's ever felt for anyone ever before, an emotion so powerful it steals his words and his breath away, and for a moment time stops between them. Cas simply gazes at him, and Dean doesn't need him to speak. Castiel’s love for him, his undivided devotion, it's all too plain in the way he's looking at Dean as though looking straight to the core of his being, a tiny little smile tugging corners of the angel’s mouth.

“I…”

Speech is difficult; Dean’s throat is tight with emotion. Whatever Cas is doing to him, or whatever their close proximity is doing to them both, it feels like a weight is falling away from Dean’s shoulders with every second that passes. A weight he's carried for years, never letting anyone else bear it, never letting anyone close enough to even see how tired he is and how badly he needs to be loved. Cas loves him, unconditionally. It's there, right in front of him, and Dean knows what he wants. What he's wanted for years without realising. He knows. He's ready.

“I…Cas, I…”

Cas looks so undone, watching him, waiting for him to speak. He’ll give Dean all the time in the world if he needs it, the hunter knows implicitly. Cas will wait. But he's waited too long already. They both have.

“Cas, I think…”

Dean can't fathom why his eyes are burning or why his nose is tingling, or why crying feels like the right thing to do right now. But one look at Castiel tells him that the angel is right there with him. Cas’ blue eyes are shimmering, chapped lips parted, and he looks so hopeful that Dean can't help but smile through his threatening tears. His angel. _His_ angel.

“I love you, Cas. I'm…I think I'm in love with you.”

And his angel breaks into a teary, beautiful smile, one the hunter has never seen before and knows he needs to see every day for the rest of his life, and Dean feels as though, for the first time in both their long lives, they're home.


	11. Chapter 11

“I love you, Cas. I'm…I think I'm in love with you.”

Dean’s voice sounds hollow to his own ears, but as he speaks something inside him uncoils and relaxes. Relief floods every atom of his being, and he swears the muscles in his shoulders release somewhat; the weight of the last few weeks eases as he speaks, as Cas stares into his eyes and beams that bright, incredible smile, the smile Dean brought out of him. He loves Cas. He’s _in love with_ Cas. Nothing has ever felt more perfect. Saying it out loud feels like freedom, and the dam holding Dean’s words back breaks and he just can’t stop talking. Cas simply stares, grasping his hand now with both of his, stroking his skin and encouraging him, listening deeply to every word.

“And I think I always have been, that I’ve always known all along but I just didn’t realise it, and I’m so, so sorry. We could have had it all, Cas, all along, couldn’t we? And we’ve lost so many years, so many missed opportunities, and we’ve fucked so much up between us. And it’s all my fault. But I want to make it right. Want to give you everything, and it’s… it’s so scary, Cas, I don’t know how I’m going to do it, because the idea of fucking us up even more makes me want to tear my hair out and start screaming, because I can’t lose you, Cas, I _can’t_. I can’t lose what we have.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face, finding it damp with tears. He knows he should stop, but the words just keep coming, flowing from him like a river, and Castiel’s gentle hands on his do nothing but coax him to continue. “But I _need_ you, Cas, in ways I don’t even think I know yet; you complete me, and the last few weeks have been hell - no, _worse_ than Hell, because I remember Hell and being here without you has been so much worse. I’d go through every day in Hell all over again if it means I get to keep you in my life. Because when you left, I thought I’d fucked it all up for good, beyond repair. Say something, Cas, please, _please_ talk to me. I need to hear you say it, need to know it’s going to be all right. Cas, _please_ ,”

There are tears in Dean’s eyes, on his cheeks, and he feels tense all over but at the same time so boneless that he could collapse on the ground at any second, the weight of all the pent up energy over years and years hitting him and making him dizzy with worry and need. He’s still talking as Cas stands up slowly, not letting go of Dean’s hands but drawing him up with him, to his feet, and pulling Dean closer slowly as the verbal tirade slowly tails off and Dean falls silent, just staring at his angel. His Cas. _His_ Cas…

His Cas has pulled Dean’s hands against his own chest, palms open and pressed directly over his heart, and is staring deeply into the hunter’s eyes as Dean pants with the exertion of it all and studies Castiel’s face. It’s though he’s seeing him properly for the very first time, and Cas looks just the same as he always does, but wildly different all at once. Dean stares in the same way he’s learned to do from Cas: memorising every line, every curve, every fine wrinkle at the corner of his eyes, the gentle indent between his brows, the shadow of stubble and the full, chapped lips and of course, his beautiful, oceanic eyes that Dean could blissfully drown in and drift away. The space between them is closing slowly, Cas flicking his eyes up to Dean’s for just a second then down to his lips, and all of a sudden they’re sharing a breath. Cas smells sweet and masculine and delicious, and Dean inhales deeply without thinking too much about it. Cas releases one of Dean’s hands and his fingers come down to the hunter’s hip, touching gently with a nervous tremor then, when Dean doesn’t pull away, he slides his palm to the small of Dean’s back, pulling him just a little closer so their bodies touch, chests and thighs brushing together. An electric energy reminiscent of Cas’ grace crackles between them and Dean wets his dry lips with a deep intake of breath, letting his eyes fall closed. His hands are on Cas’ chest, gripping his top gently, and one of Castiel’s is covering both of his, holding them there, stabilising him and grounding him. He feels as though he will fall if Cas lets go of him, and the angel seems to sense this and draws him impossibly closer and then it’s happening. Years of longing and machine and wanting and need, and anger, pain, hurt, lust, passion, _love_ …

Castiel kisses him. It’s gentle at first, a tentative brush of lips against Dean’s, pulling back for just a second then again, kissing with slow, torturously sweet intent and Dean is lost to Cas. He kisses back, closed-mouthed and shaky, and Cas slides his hand from his own chest to cup the back of Dean’s neck, inclining his head as their mouths move together. Cas brushes Dean’s lips gently with his tongue and the hunter melts beneath him, letting Cas taste him as he whimpers into the angel’s mouth. Cas tastes of stardust, spicy and sweet, heated and icy cool all at once and Dean sways, dizzy with the rush of excitement and relief at the fact that Cas is his. He's his. Dean’s arms have come up to loosely encircle Cas’ waist and he trails fingertips up Castiel’s spine to the back of his head, sinking his hand into the thick hair and Cas moans into his mouth, panting.

“Oh God, Dean,”

Cas sounds choked, loaded with emotion, and Dean takes control, kissing the angel strongly, deeply, loading every movement with the love and adoration he's let build over the years, finally unleashing it on the angel. Cas grips him tight, and Dean sobs a little against his mouth.

“I've missed you so much.” They tear apart for a few seconds, Dean reaching up to scrub at his own wet cheeks but Cas gets there first, both hands cupping Dean’s jaw and his thumbs feather-light as he brushes his tears away.

“I've missed you, Dean, so much. I never thought…” Cas smiles and it's so, so sweet. “I never thought I would be this lucky. I never imagined I'd be touching you like this. Although, I’d rather you were smiling than crying.”

“I am, Cas.” Dean laughs through another, fresh wave of emotion. “They're happy tears. I'm…I'm happy, Cas. Here, with you.”

“I know, Dean.”

Cas kisses the tip of his nose and it's so sweet and intimate that Dean snuffles out a laugh and Cas smiles at him. They're sharing a breath, back and forth, and Cas can't stop stroking Dean’s face. In turn, the hunter is caressing Castiel’s lower back and the nape of his neck, gazing at his angel and soaking in every second of every moment of their first kiss. It's more perfect that he could ever have imagined.

“I'll always be here to dry your tears, Dean.” Cas whispers softly. “No matter what. Even if this doesn't work out the way we both want, I'll always be here. I'll never leave you, I promise. But I have a feeling that everything is very, very definitely,” He strokes Dean’s cheek with his thumb, his eyes sparkling with the deepest adoration. ”Going to be all right. It’s you and me. We always find a way.”

Dean swallows thickly, the intensity in Castiel’s words overwhelming him. He's never been spoken to like this, ever. He's never felt worthy of this kind of gentle love, a love so intense that it speaks to his soul and Dean knows without question or doubt that he's wanted. Needed. Desired. Loved so much that nothing could ever change it, and even heaven and hell have tried. If they can survive that, they can survive anything.

Dean kisses Cas again, and they both huff out wild, emotional laughs against each other's lips. Dean grins, licking at Cas’ mouth and dipping his tongue in to taste and explore. He knows that this is it, that he's addicted to Cas and he wants more. He wants everything that Cas has to offer and in return he will spend the rest of his life proving to the angel just how perfect they are together, and how even though Dean sometimes fucks up and says or does things he shouldn't, he wants to be with Cas. He's ready for how scary it might be, and if Cas takes his hand he knows they can walk through it all together. He's just getting into the kiss, wrapping both hands in Castiel’s hair and sighing in pleasure, when a voice cuts through the room like an arrow and he pulls away, kiss-wrecked and shocked.

“Oh my God!”

It's Sam, standing in the doorway in his pyjama pants and t-shirt, a hand up at his head as though he's stopped mid-pushing-back-hair, and he's staring at them with the widest, most shocked grin Dean has ever seen. His eyes flick from his brother to Cas then back, and he just grins even more.

“You two amaze me. _Finally!_ How many years has it been!?”

“Uh, Sammy?” Dean is smiling in spite of himself, still holding Cas loosely around his waist and he can't help but notice that Cas hasn't let go of his hips either. “Can you just give us a minute?”

“Sure, sure, place is all yours.” Sam scoots past them, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he does, and Cas pulls him a little closer, suddenly possessive in a way that sends an electric thrill through Dean. “Let me get some coffee then I'm out of your hair.”

His laughter, a sound of joy on their behalf and relief that they've finally worked it all out, follows him as he retreats back to his room to do whatever it is that Sam does in his downtime. Dean turns back to Cas and the angel seals their lips together again, kissing Dean slowly and sensually, as though they have all the time in the world.

Dean knows they still need to talk. They have a lot to work out, a lot of things to smooth over and a lot of hurt to soothe, but in this moment he's the happiest he can ever remember being. He has his brother, his mother, and now someone he can hopefully call his partner and what more could he ever want out of life?


	12. Chapter 12

They do talk. They spend all day talking: in the map room, the kitchen, Dean's bedroom, and in the library. Well, Dean does most of the talking. He says more to Cas in a few short hours than he has in the entire time they've spent together over the years, and Cas listens intently, nodding and encouraging him, and giving him the space he needs when his emotions overwhelm him and he just needs to be quiet for a few minutes. Dean has never been good at talking. He hates baring his soul to anyone, but somehow talking to Castiel feels different. It comes naturally, and it feels like it means something. Dean wonders if the reason he dislikes talking about how he feels so much is that growing up he never really felt like anybody wanted to listen. His father was stoic and absent, focused on the family business and building Dean into the strong, brash hunter he has grown up to be, and Sammy always had his own things going on. Friends, girlfriends, school, things Dean never really had for himself because the pressure of the family business weighed on his shoulders like a cross. So when he did want to talk, he either found he had nobody who would listen or he was always too busy worrying about everyone else to put his own emotions into perspective. He almost felt forgotten in a sense, and it's only now that he's growing to realise it. 

But then Castiel came along, and everything changed. Cas saw Dean as more than a hunter, more than a soldier to the supernatural cause. He saw Dean, and that mattered. Dean had brushed off the ‘special bond’ malarkey for years because he didn't want to tug at the thread of ‘Cas listens tonne in ways nobody else has’ because it would inevitably lead to more self-analysis than Dean was capable of without an actively participating audience. But now, now that he has Cas and they're together, he can open that particular Pandora's box and not feel ashamed when he tries to work through things and struggles. Cas listens. He listens to Dean try to get his words out, smiles when he blushes and kisses him prettily to reassure him that it's all OK. That talking isn't easy, but that it helps. 

They talk about Dean’s childhood, and the angel learns about John and Mary Winchester and about how much Dean loved caring for Sammy as a child, even when it was tough. They talk about early hunts, when Castiel was around but not around. They talk about what happened after Hell, and that night in the barn. 

“Thought you were a sanctimonious asshole.”

“Thought you just needed someone to lean on.”

And then, they talk about the weeks that have passed recently and the build-up to them both getting everything they've always wanted. 

“It's always been you, Dean. I always thought you knew that.”

“I always needed you, Cas. I just didn't realise how badly.”

There's a lot of kissing involved, and more than once Dean’s hands wander to places that aren't strictly PG-13. Cas always stops him with a gentle kiss to his lips or cheek, telling him no that they should wait and not rush things. That it's been a testing time for both of them, and that they have all the time in the world now to explore each other and enjoy themselves. Dean just thinks they've wasted too much time already. 

They follow each other about the bunker like stray puppies, never more than a foot apart and holding hands almost constantly. Sam and Mary make themselves scarce, deliriously happy for the new couple but happy to stay out of their way, thank you very much. Dean’s gooey heart-eyes are something Sam can do without seeing every time he turns around. He disappears to research hexes, and Mary goes on a grocery run, promising burgers and waffles for dinner. Dean whoops, Sam groans, and Cas just smiles at his family and thinks about how lucky he is. 

Dean snuggles up to Cas' back while he makes their lunch, and Cas turns in his arms to kiss him languidly, loving the taste of Dean and everything about him and soon the food is forgotten. Dean’s hands come beneath the angel’s ass, to the tops of his thighs, and he's lifted up onto the counter where the hunter slots himself neatly between his legs and starts kissing him like there's no tomorrow. Cas’ muffled ‘we should wait…’ gets lost amid Dean’s exploring tongue, and the angel gives in. He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and kisses back with the force of a decade of pent-up need, and Dean groans into his mouth. 

“Oh God, Cas. Your mouth…”

Cas smirks against his lips, trailing a line of hot, fiery, open-mouthed kisses down the column of Dean’s threat, stopping where his t-shirt begins and lapping at the exposed skin before pulling back just a touch to whisper into his new boyfriend’s ear: you should see what else I can do with it…

And Dean’s brain short-circuits. He barely remembers lifting Cas up bodily, the angel’s legs wrapping automatically around his waist as he laughs in a very un-Cas-like, carefree manner, and carries him down the corridor. He kicks open the door to his bedroom and dumps Cas on his back on the bed, where the angel props himself up on his elbows and grins wolfishly. Flirtatiously. Sweetly, but with glittering eyes that promise something more, much more, and Dean can't get in the bed fast enough. He lands on top of Cas, both of them grunting with the force of the impact, and Dean’s desperate mouth finds Castiel’s and they're kissing again, hot and needy and wet and delicious. Dean feels heat building in his groin, his clothed cock twitching in interest and starting to harden. Cas’ hands slide up under Dean’s t-shirt as the hunter licks and nips at his jaw and throat, and Cas hums in pleasure. 

“Dean…”

“Mmm, what?”

“Are you sure you want this?” Cas kisses him, all slow and sweet with barely-restrained desire, and Dean pulls back to look at him. He lets his fingers trail up to stroke Cas’ jaw, the other hand coming up to play with his hair, and their bodies are flush together, heat building between them as Dean grinds his hips down experimentally, drawing a pleased gasp from both their lips. 

“Yeah, Cas, I'm so ready for this.” He kisses Castiel’s lips. “Maybe not…everything.” Kisses his chin. “Like…no…no penetration, not yet.” Kisses his cheek, then the other, as Cas watches him with dark, lust-filled eyes. “But I want you. I definitely want you. And I don't want to wait any longer.” He seals his lips to the angel’s again, and dips his tongue in to explore Castiel’s mouth a little more. “I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but…maybe…you could take the lead?” His smile is suddenly shy, and a pretty blush stains his cheeks, thrust, and if Cas isn't mistaken, all the way down his chest. Cas growls, long and low in his throat, wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and flips them bodily until he's on top, lying between the hunter’s spread thighs and pressing their hard cocks together through their denim barriers. A low groan is punched from Dean and his head falls back to the pillows; Cas takes the opportunity to attack Dean’s neck with nips and kisses, and sucks a deep red hickey into the skin just above his collarbone. 

As Cas slides his hands up under Dean’s t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head and tossing it away, Dean is lost completely to the handsome angel. 

*

Cas wasn't exaggerating. The things he did to Dean with his mouth were on another level, and the hunter is left panting and gasping while Cas pulls back just enough to pass a hand over them both to clean them up. They're both exhausted, sated, and Dean can't ever remember feeling so connected to somebody. His throat is sore from moaning and crying out in ecstasy, and he knows Castiel’s blowjob skills will be hard to beat. Cas had murmured against the inside of his thigh, while Dean trembled and asked how the fuck he knew exactly what to do to make it so good, and he had replied that he rebuilt Dean carefully and with intent, and that he knows every inch of the hunter’s body as well as he knows his own vessel. He knows exactly where to kiss, lick, stroke and thrust to make Dean collapse into pleasure, knows just how much Dean needs to push him over the edge, and knows when he's overstimulated and needs a break without even being told. Dean has never had such a responsive, dedicated, and dare he say dominant lover. Because Cas did take control, and Dean loved every second of it. 

When Cas had glanced up from his position between Dean’s legs, his blue eyes dark and glittering, and had said ‘I'll always take care of you, Dean,’ that’s when Dean had realised just how deep his love for Castiel runs. And it had moved him to ecstatic, shocked, deliriously happy tears. 

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: <http://coffeeandcas.tumblr.com>. Got a fluffy/angsty Destiel prompt? Send it to me and I'll do my best to fill it!


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